


Walking The Line

by lil_1337



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for smallfandomfest 14.</p>
<p>Prompt: "I live with it every day." (tag for 1.08 The Well)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking The Line

Sometimes I wonder about Ward. For a seasoned agent he has some big vulnerable spots. Like now, he's starting at me with big eyes that have more than a little bit of undiluted admiration in them which is not only disconcerting, it's dangerous. He looks like a rookie, green around the edges and awestruck by anyone who has ever had their ass handed to them and lived to tell about it. I guess that his competency in the field makes me forget just how young he is. Young, naïve and vulnerable, three words he would protest against ever having applied to him.

He's stuck on the machismo of being strong and stoic, hiding his pain away so that it festers and grows more powerful every time his control slips. Eventually, if he survives, he'll learn that the only way to keep the abyss from having sway is to stare into it so long that you either go insane or what you see there can no longer touch you in any meaningful way.

At least that's what I keep telling myself and so far it seems to be working.

It's funny the illusions and delusions we use to do the job and get through the day. Even when it seems like it would be so much easier to lay down and die we don't. We kept fighting until our breath and our bodies will not let us go on anymore. Sometimes even then we don't stop, at least not if you are Special Agent Coulson. But then he might just be a special case in an agency full of special cases. One more reason I wouldn't want to be him.

Plus, I sure as hell wouldn't want to be Director Fury's favorite. He doesn't play nice with his toys or his agents. The more he likes you the worst the ops you are assigned. It's his messed up way of rewarding agents who are discreet and good at their jobs. Do a little more than expected every day and pretty soon they'll start to expect more. That's how Fury works, I know because that is how I ended up in Bahrain.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, a meet and greet with a newly discovered power. Coulson would do the talking, as usual, and I would back him up if needed. Only, by the time we got there the whole damn thing had already gone south. Our mission, now target, was holed up with a bunch of his followers and a handful of civilians. One of them a young girl who had been dragged along by her zealous uncle who was determined to break her spirit and teach her the true burden of being a woman.

I wanted to rescue her. To save her from the world she had fallen into by no fault of her own and she died in my arms. Eyes slipping closed while her smile of pure hero worship was frozen in place by death. In that moment everything else ceased to matter. All the murder and mayhem I had wrought to get to her side was meaningless. I'd failed. I was supposed to be one of the best, one of the good guys who made the world better and I hadn't. Not even one little bit. That's when a part of me died, snuffed out in the space of a heartbeat. This wasn't the first op I'd been on that gone wrong. Nor was it the first civilian I'd seen die, but there was something about this girl in this time that hit dead center in the splinters all the others had made in my soul.

Shattering it and my sense of purpose into a million diamond splinter shards.

I've seen broken people before. I've rescued and worked with them every day. We're trained to know the signs and how to deal with it on a very basic level. But you never really know what it is or how it feels until you watch the essence of your being fly apart like a stained glass window smashed by a baseball bat. Light and color is replaced by a gaping hole and even if you are lucky enough to find parts big enough to be restored the injured area is always weaker then it was before. The images a little less clear.

Personally, I just found a big square of plywood and covered the whole thing. It's stronger and safer than it ever was even if it is now a lot darker. The thing about darkness though, is that it is a great place to hide. It makes most people uncomfortable and nervous so only the intrepid few are willing to spend much time looking for you. I like it that way. Me and my memories keeping company with each other. In the shadows where we belong.

At least I thought I did.

Things are changing once again, courtesy of Coulson. He has a way of walking into your life and asking a question or making an offer in that calm, understated way of his and then suddenly nothing is ever the same again. For me this means being back out in the field with another team to protect. The exact opposite of what I wanted. Shiny, innocent, faces and even the most experienced of them still suffers from a savior complex the size of Tony Stark's ego.

I have no clue how this team is going to survive and yet there is a part of me that desperately wants it to. They have become the tiny bit of glass that has managed to work it's way into a position that allows it to send color into the deep shadows of my shelter. I see it flicker and grow in strength when I have to swallow a smile watching Fitz and Simmons bicker or see Skye tweak Ward in a way that makes him question all his rigidly held principles.

It's like having playground duty at the S.H.I.E.L.D pre-school or herding hyperactive cats. Either way I've got my work cut out for me making sure that no one strays too far from the path and gets lost. It doesn't mean that I can step away from or redeem myself for my failures in Bahrain, but that's okay. I carry those scars as a reminder never to let my guard down because it is not me who will ultimately pay the price.

Once again I have responsibilities whether I want them or not. Some time in the future, if I survive, I'll know if I should curse or thank Coulson for this. For now, though, I'm going to cup my hands around that glowing ember and let the others use their enthusiasm try to encourage the life in it.

Only time and will show whether their efforts will create fire or cause the last bit of light to burn out forever.


End file.
